


Unchecked Tales

by Vexicle



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-09 07:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17997104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vexicle/pseuds/Vexicle
Summary: drabble collection of fantasy/parallel universe





	1. Round One

**Author's Note:**

> drabble collection of fantasy/parallel universe

Renegade narrows his eyes to slits as he spots his opponent. The white-haired man appears before him, smirking and twirling his signature black cane in one hand. It’s thin and long and is probably half his height. 

Arctic is his name, Renegade knows, and he can see why. The man looks delicate, pale skin and long wisps of white hair, pale blue eyes zeroing in on him. It’s a little hard to believe they’re both in the same ‘age group’, apprentices. He’s dressed in a form-fitting white suit with black trousers that sharpen his snowy features. He doesn’t look like much, just - Renegade’s ears twitch in annoyance - really unnecessarily fancy. _He’s just a human,_ Renegade thinks incredulously, _a human brute who can’t appreciate magic to the fullest!_

Arctic, noticing him staring, smirks wider and tips his black hat to the rabbit folk. The usually respectful gesture is clearly done in a mocking fashion: the exaggerated actions of it all, the way Arctic is looking at him with an expression that suggests Renegade is beneath him. Arctic blinks twice, mischief spreading, as if saying, _Like what you see?_

Renegade’s right hand clenches around his sheathed sword in his scabbard, claws digging into the handle. With a cry, he draws it out and charges forward, obilerating the smug bastard where he stands with one quick, wide slash of his sword’s arc… or at least he might have, if something cold and hard and _sharp_ hadn't sprung in his way, embedding itself in his skin. A sharp chill runs throughout his body as if piercing his very veins. Renegade falls back, winded and shaking himself to dislodge the - steel? No, ice - from his body. It pierces like steel bullets, leaving scratches with blood oozing out of them, frostbite creeping over his bare skin. 

_This isn't any ordinary ice,_ Renegade realises. _His speciality. Of course._ He grits his teeth against the sharp chills and tries to shatter the unforgiving ice by smashing his arms against the arena walls. It actually does break, but not without taking some of his skin with it, leaving his skin patchy and sore and sensitive. Renegade grimaces.

He dares to glance up, only to find Arctic still smirking in that _infuriating_ manner as he spins his cane on one hand by the handle as he shrugs. He hasn't backed off at all. Blood boils under the surface of Renegade’s mask of grim determination. _Why isn't he attacking?_ Renegade wonders, momentarily snapping out of his anger to actually think about his opponent. _He’s a mage, he should have the advantage of range here._ On guard, he looks down, anticipating runes to appear beneath his feet at any time. 

Instead, nothing happens. 

Renegade whips his head back up to find that Arctic hasn't moved. In fact, the only thing he’s done is stopped twirling the cane to place it behind his back with both hands, leaning forward with one eyebrow raised in an obvious challenge.

 _I’ll show you!_ Renegade lets out a mighty roar, sprinting forward and unleashing slash after slash after slash, attempting to drive the mage back. Just who does Arctic think he is? The wide, sweeping arcs of his blade glow red. If only he could make contact, he’d be able to steal Arctic’s energy or mana or whatever, just weaken the damn fool that keeps dodging - stepping here and there and even occasionally doing a backflip, all with that stupid smug smile on his face as Renegade grows more and more worked up. Frustrated, he lets out a growl as red blade once again sails through thin air.

No matter how fast Renegade is, though, Arctic is faster.

As it is, his opponent simply sidesteps and continues moving backwards, keeping the cane behind him all the while. Arctic is grace incarnate, making the sword hacking away in front of him look like an absolute joke as he nonchalantly lifts a leg the second Renegade tries to trip him up with his chains wrapped around his other hand. That leg shoots upwards in a forceful, powerful kick to Renegade’s face. The heel of Arctic’s boots appear to have been reinforced with something absurdly sturdy. The powerful blow sends Renegade scrambling back and reeling, only for the air to be choked from him as heavy metal curls around his neck like a snake.

Still though, it’s no match for his strength. _Easy,_ Renegade thinks, but no sooner has he reached to pry off Arctic’s cane and punch with his other hand does he receive a sharp blow to his chin. Staggering back, everything stinging, he receives another blow to his chest - from Arctic’s knee, maybe? - before the dreaded metal hook curls around his leg. Renegade is too skilled for that, obviously, he doesn’t trip - but he does lean forward before being able to regain his balance, and in that brief moment he feels air connect with his sensitive skin when Arctic leaps into the air - then a kick connect with the back of his skull. 

Renegade staggers back as Arctic conjures a support rune and lands on it after a graceful flip. Arctic stares right at him with a smirk. The hook of the cane rests on his arm as Arctic takes the time to calmly adjust his tie.

Pain throbs in the places he’s been hit, signalling to Renegade that he might just have underestimated the human’s physical attacks. Of course. Mage or not, he’d have to have some training in this area. Physical attacks he could hold, though… but in conjunction with Arctic’s speed? It was probably a good thing Arctic hadn’t instantly gone for multiple stacks of damage runes…

 _He’s toying with me,_ Renegade finally realises, a cold pit opening up in his stomach.

Nonetheless, he refuses to let it show and simply grits his teeth, scuffing his boots into the ground to steady himself. He watches, slightly dazed, as Arctic somersaults backwards off the rune, still with that infuriating smirk on his face. He clicks a hidden button on his cane somewhere and the blunt end of his cane extends further to reveal the sharpened tip, a blade of its own concealed in the shaft. This time he goes on the offense, his grip almost too casual as he dashes forward. Still, as Arctic delivers several lightning fast strikes to Renegade’s chest, gouging deep marks into the pale flesh, Renegade knows Arctic isn't playing around… too much.

Arctic spins on the sole of his foot, dodging one last swipe of Renegade’s blade before he knocks the tired assassin flat on his back. Sharp pricks of ice embed themselves into his back, his tailbone and skull throbbing painfully. Renegade finds himself on the receiving end of the sharp point of Arctic’s cane, and makes attempts to crawl away that are laughable at best - Arctic’s got him pinned under those heavy, heavy boots. The hook whizzes by without Renegade really seeing it, and then he vaguely registers a dull twack to the back of his head. His head’s ringing too much with pressure and pain. The sharp slice of something cold and metal and unforgiving across his face makes him cry out, screams muffled by the boot crushing him. Luckily his eyes had shut on reflex, but Renegade can feel thick blood slowly, slowly sliding down the planes of his cheekbone.

 _I’ve never seen a mage so skilled without his magic,_ Renegade concurs as Arctic steps off his limp body, sheathing his weapon. He gives a glance back, arrogant demeanor dropping as he assumes a wary stance - he was pretending all along, doing it just to enrage Renegade further, to catch him off guard. Renegade stays still, admitting his defeat. This isn’t a match between equals. When time’s up, Arctic flashes him a small smile that’s more genuine than before and holds out his hand. Renegade accepts it, reaching for his scattered sword and sheathing it. It’s over.

“The winner of this round is Arctic,” narrates a nearby mentor. In the distance Arctic’s fiery twin Igneous is screaming incredibly loudly - he has to be whacked in the head by someone next to him. “In five minutes we’ll be picking the next opponents.”

Claps sound all across the arena. Arctic nods to the barely standing Renegade, placing a hand across his chest and bowing deeply. Surprised, it’s all Renegade can do to nod back. Arctic regards him for a few moments longer before he starts making some signals with his fingers. Renegade squints, his sign language is rusty at best, but… _“Stop. Think things through.”_ Maybe?

Oh right. The part of the training where apprentices exchange techniques and advice. Renegade really has nothing to say to Arctic, what with him beating his ass up with so little effort, so head bowed, he simply says, “Thank you.”

Arctic gives him a nod of acknowledgement.


	2. A Clash Between Flames

_Go, go, go._

Kuro’s skin melts away into feathers even as he thinks, jumping off the ledge instinctively and letting the plumage help him soar. After more than a lifetime to practice it’s as easy as breathing air. Orange flame shoots past him and into the already burnt dismal wreckage of buildings before him, making it erupt in wisps of dark haze; magical smoke and flame. Kuro continues undaunted and flaps his wings faster against the hot thermal currents that drag him down. 

_Need to land somewhere._

It’s no use trying to avoid him this way. Even with the entire camp of Evyk up in flames _he_ can still detect the powerful scent of a nekomata, even a nekomata in disguise.

 _Son of a bitch!_ Kuro curses, zigzagging here and there to avoid the onslaught of fireballs zooming towards him, angling his wings to aid an even faster descent. The instant he touches down on the roof of some structurally unsound remains of a building, he’s back in human form, not even trying to disguise the tails that lend him balance - _Why bother when they all know now?_ Kuro thinks bitterly as he calls his weapons to him, dodging a fireball aimed at him. _A hundred and twenty-two years and I thought I finally had a purpose in life._ He runs and runs and runs, steering left and right, jumping up on different rooftops to avoid the fireballs flung at him. Scorching heat makes his neck prickle with sweat. The cat ears remain tucked away for now as the rings and calls of battle sound all around him. Kuro draws his weapon and slices the debris falling apart in front of him. 

Charred wood disappears in the purple glow as Kuro leaps through it, momentarily assuming the form of a cat to bridge the small gap. Crackles and sizzles and cries of battle pound in his ears. A split second later and he’s in human form again, shaking his head to clear it and panting heavily. Everything’s crashing and burning and he needs to find his clanmates right this instant -

An ominous winged shadow falls over Kuro crouched on the roof. He refuses to react to the omen of death. Instead, he angles his head upwards slowly, allowing his long tresses of dark hair to escape and show off his golden slitted eyes, flickering blue with malevolent hatred.

“ _Izumi Kuronaga_ ,” the massive humanoid calls, the name rolling off his tongue the way pollution might flow into a river.

“Anri,” Kuro hisses back, refusing to give in to the other demon’s shining black eyes shielded slightly by the long, red nose connected to his even redder face. The tengu is smirking, wings half closed, the display a challenge. Instinctively, Kuro reaches for his swords strapped to his hips.

“Can’t you even _fight_ like a demon?” the tengu taunts him, flames flickering at his fingertips of his outstretched palms. “Relying on those weapons made by living beings?” He lets out a laugh that sounds like sharp claws scratching down concrete. “Then again, you’ve always been fascinated by them… an unfounded obsession, as I’ve hope you’ve come to realise.”

 _Ignore him. You know they do damage him. He’s just taunting._ Kuro ignores the urge to flatten his ears that are currently not even in existence. More than a hundred years together and Anri hasn't learnt to adapt his methods, apparently. The powerful demon is trying to rile Kuro up again, to once again tempt him to his side, but he refuses to waver. 

_My clan knows me as a demon now._ A flash of white-hot bolt of electricity streaks across his veins. _And it’s all his fault._ Kuro raises the sword the clan leader himself taught him to construct. _But I won't betray their faith in me._

The very same clan that had taken him in, a total stranger, shown him kindness, and where he’d had some of the happiest times in recent memory: recent to an immortal, anyway.

Blazing hot anger, fueled by the flames around him, fuels the stone-cold, precise swings of his sword. Kuro launches himself at the tengu, dodging to the left and landing on the side of a miraculously standing building. He runs and takes a flying leap through the air, going for Anri’s weak spot - his unshielded wings. However, Anri retracts his wings like blades and shoots his left wing out again, hitting Kuro square in the stomach. Gritting his teeth, Kuro endures and forces himself to hold on to the feathers with iron claws. He’s closed in now, now’s his chance - or it would have been if Anri didn’t instantly shoot flames at him, forcing the nekomata to jump off. 

Kuro lands on the ground they’re standing on and attempts to slide underneath Anri, but once again his vision is flooded with black feathers. He slashes at the feathery wall once before he uses the momentum to fall back, glaring at his opponent as the grip on his sword tightens. He shifts into a smaller human form of himself to escape from the view of Anri. Once Kuro’s behind him, he transforms back to normal size, swinging a blade towards the back of his head. Anri simply turns his head to the side, allowing the sword to come narrow centimeters of his pointed left ear.

“Something wrong? Have you gotten rusty?” Anri queries, grinning as he spins on his foot and launches another fireball at Kuro that he deflects with his sword.

Kuro is in fact rather out of touch with his magical abilities, but his physical ones have been sharpened and polished. If he were to just fire at the tengu, he knows Anri would just block them all with ease. As it is, his only real option, however ineffective, is to attack Anri with barrage after barrage of slashes, hoping one of his techniques catch the oversized demon off guard.

“You’ll try to,” taunts the tengu as he dodges all his attacks with ease, “but you can't kill me. You’re too soft for that.” Black eyes shine as he bends his back backwards, the tip of Kuro’s blade barely missing his long, red nose… and then suddenly he’s holding no blade at all. He staggers forward with the momentum and finds himself grasped by the neck with a powerful fist. His chest heaves despite needing no air. He tries to hiss at his enemy. “Give them back,” he whispers out, throat squeezed closed. All this nets Kuro is spittle launched in his face. Kuro makes an instinctive grab at the falling metal as Anri dismissively hurls it over the rooftop they’re standing on, straight into the meters-high flames down below.

A pang of pain twists at his heart. “How could you?” Kuro wants to yell, but he finds himself garbling out a weak assortment of words instead. Anri was _there_ when he’d first picked up a scattered sword on the ground, Anri was there when he’d begun curiously tailing expert swordsmen from all over, Anri was there when Kuro had turned to him, eagerly explaining his new discoveries.

Shaking his head, he twists his head back, meeting Anri eye to eye in a clear message that the tengu simply tosses aside.

“Stop this foolishness, Kuro. Fight me the way you used to.” Anri’s black eyes glitter with darkness, the flames all around them sizzling and crackling. “You’d be truly naive to think your so-called _clan_ will accept a demon like you among them. Ah, what do your ‘clanmates’ say?” A thin, spindly finger curls a lock of Kuro’s black hair around it. “A nekomata: a malevolent species. _Attack on sight._ ” Kuro would recoil in disgust if he could, but he’s held fast against the burning building, legs dangling in the air. Shapeshifting isn’t an option here - anything small enough to escape the tengu’s grip is also small enough for him to crush in his hands.

“They’ll all turn on you. And then, nothing you’ve learnt will be able to save you. What will you do then, Kuronaga?” Anri looks dismissively at the way Kuro’s hands are fastened around his fist. “Show me your fire. Show me you can burn them all if you chose.”

If Kuro just wills it, he knows white-hot flames will ignite at barely a thought, putting the orange fire surrounding him on all sides to shame… but he won’t, because his friends are down there fighting for their lives and to defend the lands of their allies. He will not lay down yet more devastation where they stand. Anri’s wrong, because Kuro thinks he’s just beginning to scratch the surface of what true companionship means. His friends. He needs to get back to them. Flashes of his friends’ faces whizz by in his memories: Igneous, Arctic, _Intel_ -

“Leave him _alone_!”

Caught off guard, Kuro finds the tight hold around his neck released. Stunned, it’s instinct that catches him in a safety net, sharp claws shifting out of previously normal-looking human fingers. His fingers curl around the edge of chipped-off wood, claws stupidly trying to sink into unstable wood before he remembers himself, and adhesive pads akin to a lizard’s appear on his hands that Kuro uses to haul himself up. 

“Kuro!” 

Kuro looks at the outstretched hand in surprise - though bloodied, he recognises the dark skin and even darker hair that grows on the fingers. _Intel,_ Kuro thinks, and curiously, his heart warms at the thought. He makes sure to disappear the sticky pads before he accepts the gesture and finds himself lifted up by the sheer strength of the werewolf. _Intel, you came._ For a moment, all Kuro can think about is the way the orange light illuminates the werewolf’s face, turning his brown hair to wisps of flame. 

The tengu circling the air around them is decidedly less pleased, however. Black eyes narrow in on the werewolf at the feral growl he emits. “So, Kuro, looks like one of your little friends came after all,” Anri says, tone dryer than the surrounding air. He rolls his eyes and places his hands behind his back mid-flap. “My, my. Isn’t this touching.”

“Fuck off!” Intel yells at the lounging demon who is using the sizzling, crackling sky as his playground. The grip on Kuro’s hand tightens. “Or I’ll make you!”

“Make me?” Anri scoffs. He jerks his head in Kuro’s direction. “Kuro here, a powerful demon _in his own right_ ,” and here Kuro bristles at the implications he knows Anri is lying down, “can’t defeat me, and you, a mere _pup_ , thinks he can take me down?”

Intel’s hand in Kuro’s shivers at that, but the werewolf simply puffs his chest out in retaliation. “I’ll certainly try.”

“Intel,” Kuro whispers urgently. “He threw my swords into the fire. He knows all my attacks. I can’t help you by much, if at all. And...” Kuro sways his twin tails at Intel. Upon seeing them, the werewolf jerks, stunned. The moment passes soon, however, and Kuro finds his hand being squeezed. 

_I can’t believe it._

“I know, but that doesn’t matter to me.” Intel’s jaw is set in grim determination. “I _will_ defeat him. You’ll see.”

Intel forcibly wrenches his hand out of Kuro’s at that point, giving him little time to react. By the time Kuro bends his knees in a firing stance Intel is charging forward with his shield in front of him, yelling out a battle cry that only he can hear - the roaring of the flames is getting louder and louder…

_Fuck, fuck, fuck -_

With a jolt, Kuro remembers that Intel isn’t fireproof the way he and Anri is. Abandoning all thoughts of helping Intel with friendly fire, he instead dashes forward in a desperate bid to save him from Anri’s certain attack. 

Kuro sees it in slow motion, even, the tengu’s blood-red arms drawing back, red flames flickering into existence at the center of his palm. Intel’s name comes out as a unearthly screech as he launches himself forward and into the werewolf’s singed skin, the shield clattering to the roof. The ball of deadly demon fire soars past them and barrels into the brick wall of the nearby building that’s still somehow standing. Now, though, in the blink of an eye, it’s standing no longer - the force of the impact sends bricks and wood and steel all clattering to the ground as if in a game of deadly dominos. A well-fired shot that was meant to _kill_ Intel.

A lethal rage surges through his veins like a tidal wave, until Kuro’s arms are trembling from the intensity of the hatred that bubbles and boils within him. Kuro rises, letting out an unearthly screech that has Intel covering his ears. The rooftop trembles, and soon there’s the sound of chunks of earth breaking off as scattered runes of glowing red come alive all around them. 

Something extreme is flowing within him now, but Kuro is past the point of caring. He can’t see, he can’t hear, all that’s left is this all-consuming darkness and his world has narrowed to just him and his target. To hell with everything - he _needs_ this power, the power to hurt, the power to maim, the power to _kill_ the perpetrator over and over and over again. He wants to see him bleed to death over and over and again, drag him back from the darkest depths of hell just to slit the throat of his corpse, sending him back to hell in a cyclic loop of karmic retribution for _daring_ to even try to kill one of his most treasured, most precious -

The yell of “Kuro!” is accompanied by a shake of his shoulders. “Kuro!” Intel yells again, the desperation in his voice bringing Kuro back to the world. The werewolf’s brown eyes are shimmering, and his lips are trembling as if he’s trying not to cry. Kuro’s peripheral vision helps him register the state his environment is in - torn up, cracked everywhere, and the antennae has crumbled into nothing but a pile of dust. And before them lies the unmoving body of a long-nosed, black-winged, blood-red demon of the sky. 

It’s telling that the flames all around them have suddenly been put out.

Glowing, skeletal shapes waltz in and out of existence every second, clambering all over the limp body of the demonic figure. They continue mindlessly at the ribcage that has split open to expose a growing pool of blood. Anri’s body has started sizzling with black smoke: the surefire way to know if a demon was truly dead. As Kuro watches, their outlines get less and less apparent. With a final summoning of the red runes, they disappear, and Kuro can feel this as surely as he knows his name.

“...what was that?” Intel asks in a trembling voice.

“What did they do?” Kuro dodges.

“They came when your eyes started glowing red. There were so many of them, they just jumped into the sky and overpowered that… that thing. I counted maybe fifty of them, at least. They piled on top of him and then pinned him to the ground. Some held him while others started scratching him open with those skeletal hands…” Intel shakes his head as if clearing the bad memories away. “Kuro, what are they?” he asks again, sounding like a scared little child.

“Dead spirits that responded to my summon,” Kuro replies, his mind far away. He feels numb. After everything he’d done to renounce his previous life… he’d gone back to his old ways after all. Necromancy, the most reprehensible power of his skillset… mind whirling, he takes a step back from Intel. “I’ve got to go,” he gasps out, suddenly breathing fast when he doesn’t even need to.

“Kuro, what?”

“This entire attack was my responsibility,” Kuro blurts out. “That tengu came after me. His name’s Anri and he was a previous friend of mine, but… as you can see… never mind.” Kuro shakes his head. “I have to flee. The clans will not take this lightly.”

“W-wait, Kuro, you’re leaving?”

“Can’t you see I’m dangerous?” Kuro finally yells at Intel. His hands instinctively search out the comforting feel of his scabbard that isn’t quite so heavy anymore. “I’m a nekomata, a cat demon, a cat demon that can _raise the dead_. Doesn’t that ring some alarm bells to you?”

“Kuro - please, wait, we can sort -”

“No,” Kuro insists, shaking his head rapidly and backing away. “No, no. You don’t understand.” Fear grips at his chest, rendering him paralysed. “I need to go before they catch me.”

“Kuro! Please, don’t go,” Intel pleads, holding his hand out.

But Kuro does not take it. Kuro turns around, jumping off the rooftop and letting the ground rush up to meet him at an alarming speed. With a whoosh, the human is no longer in sight, replaced by the small, innocent shape of a swift swooping its way through the early morning sky.

.

Igneous’s round of bullets fire past the brush of silken white hair, crashing into the mass of jet black feathers and exploding upon impact. The lesser tengu shrieks as fire strikes him from the inside out. It collapses to the ground, body dissolving into black mist swept away by the flames around them. 

It’s not much, as the tengu are fire resistant, on top of the normal bullet resistance anyone with experience in first stage defence magic can turn on passively. There just isn’t much a normal gun can do against this giant tengu army. Igneous has had to exhaust his bullet supply of high-impact rounds reinforced by magic. It’s the only way he can even cause a scratch of damage to the demons. Even then, it had taken him twenty or so before the one he was attacking went down. And Igneous can’t risk summoning his flames either, or he risks helping their enemy burn Evyk to the ground.

Doing even worse, however, is his brother. Crippled by the heat, the mage can't conjure any of his unusual magic ice before it melts away. Arctic wears grim determination on his face like a mask. Blood trails down his cheek from three sharp slashes across his face, undoubtedly from unnaturally long talons. The tips of his long pure white hair are singed black at the ends from the flames. 

Arctic ducks under the swipe of a wing outstretched, dark feathers sharpened to needles. Stumbling a little, Arctic presses his the sharp edge of his cane upwards into the wing bone as he delivers a kick to the tengu’s weak ankles. It screeches and attempts to dislodge the sharp edge of his cane. Arctic conjures up a shielding rune moments before the tengu flings his legs upwards, intending to aim for Arctic’s nose. The rune shatters like glass before him, and the tengu hisses, drawing back.

Igneous flexes the aching joints of his right hand wrapped around his gun once more. Then he readies it and aims directly at the tengu’s eye. He hits. Igneous jumps back, a fiery red silhouette of himself where he was moments before, just before a blood-red fist crashes through the mirage. The tengu screeches with fury at the foiled attempt. It rears back, readying another powerful punch with his fist lit aflame.

Spying the window of opportunity, Arctic leaps up and hooks his cane around the tengu’s thick neck, kicking him in the jaw just as it lurches forward in confusion. Arctic lands on a rune conjured in midair, waiting patiently as the tengu tries unsuccessfully to crane its neck this way and that to spy its attacker. No matter how much it tries to dislodge Arctic, the mage swings his arms with the tengu’s motions, keeping it trapped like a dog on a leash. Then, Igneous rushes forward, swinging his pistol outward with a hand in one swift motion. The barrel slides outwards into a sharp blade that quickly severs the neck of the demon. The head does not hit the ground, dissolving into thick black before it even lands.

Arctic gives Igneous an unamused look as he leaps off the rune and lands on charred grass. The white rune vanishes behind him. He gestures behind with a thumb.

“Alright,” Igneous says, sighing, “I’m sorry for almost decapitating you. It’s not even long enough. Relax.”

Arctic presses his hands against his knees, drawing in one deep breath as he gives Igneous a half hearted glare.

Igneous knows how it feels: they’ve been fighting the tengu for what seems like forever. How many are there even? They’ve killed so many now. Right now his skills in detection are telling him there aren't any around… unless there’s a greater tengu waiting to sneak up on them, they should be fine. Igneous needs a long, long break. He can only take so much: they’re still apprentices after all. They’ve been fighting for what feels like forever and Igneous feels his throat getting desperately parched from all the smoke. He leans forward, gripping the slashed fabric of his right arm. “How… many… more?” he gasps out, leaning against a crumbling tree for support.

Arctic simply shakes his head, his long hair spilling over his face.

They stay like that for a while before they can finally drag their aching limbs back into a ready stance. Arctic wipes away the blood on his face with his sleeve. Igneous rolls his shoulders before once again drawing his sword.

Stealth training alerts him to the shadow lurking just out of sight in the corner. Igneous lifts his blade and swings it upwards just as the giant, hulking mass hurtles into view. Arctic is holding his cane by the hook, firing bullets at the enemy that Igneous knows will do nothing but distract it for a few moments. 

Nevertheless a few seconds is enough. Igneous takes matters into his own hands the moment the tengu swivels its head to stare down at Arctic long nose and all. It hisses and darts forward with both arms reached out, attempting to grab the mage with both hands. Too slow, though. Arctic neatly swerves to the right to allow for his brother to dash in, speed aided by the shadows that propel him forward. Igneous leaps and slashes outward, allowing himself a prickle of satisfaction at the way the tengu staggers back. He allows instinct to guide him, delivering another slash across the tengu’s comically long nose. Arctic leaps between instant runes, hacking away at the tengu’s wings and skin while dodging every one of the larger creature’s heavy swings.

Igneous rushes forward again. Blood red fists crunch down on a dissipating illusion of himself as he draws his blade and sends it right at the creatures belly. It howls and tries to claw at him, but Igneous backflips away before it can do anything. Arctic, still perched on one of his runes, drives his cane into the tender spot right between the tengu’s wings. 

Igneous braces himself, but the loathsome screech doesn't come. Instead, as Igneous watches, crouched low to the ground, hidden, the tengu doesn’t seem to register Arctic brutally stabbing his back again and again. Only when Arctic’s rune glows red beneath his feet does the tengu jerk back. It reaches around and Igneous is gripped by horror. His feet carry him forward of their own accord. He can already see the ending, of Arctic bruised and bloody, flung against trees…

The tengu simply reaches for the dark black cane embedded in skin and pries it out, not even caring about who it’s connected to. It spreads it jet-black wings and flaps them, taking to the skies. “ _Alpha!_ ” it screeches to the winds and embers. “ _Alpha. Alpha is dead!_ ”

Arctic lands nimbly with two feet on the ground next to Igneous. And as they watch, the twins are stunned by the sight of jet-black wings spread out and hundreds, if not thousands of tengu taking to the skies. All together, the entire flock blots out the red skies as easily as ants swarming around a crumb of bread. The flames across the horizon flare up the canopies for just a moment before it dies down like a fountain running out of water, sinking lower and lower as the swarm leaves. As the last black feather drops to the ground, the fires are reduced to nothing more but embers in their wake.


	3. Look What The Cat Dragged In

Kuro’s ears are bigger than a cat folk’s, just shy of twice the size of the norm. If his ears are large, his split tails are almost unreasonably long, curled around his legs a few times but somehow still managing to reach the ground. The tail is of course the first hint of how powerful this demon is. 

Even Kuro’s human form appears drastically different. Intel had first known Kuro as a young human, appearing around age thirteen, wandering over to their clan to seek shelter from falling prey to outside forces. Even just this past week Kuro had looked no more than eighteen. Intel now realises the shapeshifting demon was basing his physical appearance off what he knew to be the standard age of apprentices in order to be accepted as one. Now Kuro takes on the form of a human in his prime, strong and powerful, twenty five at the most, features sharp and lithe muscles radiating power. 

Intel supposes that he now at least has an answer for how Kuro always looked so inhumanly beautiful, with not a single blemish most adolescents would have on their skin: Kuro is much more powerful than a regular person who simply has shapeshifting as their individual power. Most would have some form of blemish on their skin. Kuro, however, always looked perfect, in hindsight a large hint that his shapeshifting ability was much stronger than Kuro cared to put on display.

But had he really? Kuro was the the first shapeshifter the clans had known to actively use the ability in combat. Too often, such warriors relied on one form that they called their battle form, often with strength, power and speed most couldn't hope to achieve normally. They can't hold this form for very long though, or switch between too many forms lest they run out of mana to actually attack. Usually, to beat a shapeshifter, all one really needs to do is dodge their lightning-fast attacks for as long as possible until they're forced back into their weaker, default form. 

Not Kuro, though. Kuro constantly threw curveballs here and there: first a bird, then an ant, finally back as a human. Then he'd be behind you, aiming for your neck. Attack him and he's gone like a wisp in the wind before long, rubbery legs reach down and scratch you with talons that have sprouted at the end. Even now, Kuro perches on a branch high above Intel with human arms and legs without any apparent fatigue whatsoever. Not Kuro. 

One of Kuro’s jet-black, oversized ears twitch as he turns to look at what he’s managed to sniff out in the bushes. His eyes narrow. With a jolt Intel realises for the first time just how catlike they are - Kuro must have lifted the glamor off his shapeshifted human eyes along with his tails and ears. Apparently, those are the three hardest aspects of themselves a bakeneko has to learn to disguise.

 _Just how powerful is he really?_ Intel can't help but wonder. _Just why would he try to appear weaker than he is?_

The answer is simple even to Intel: Kuro was curious and wanted to learn, but curiosity kills the cat, as always.

Then Intel abruptly takes notice of the fact Kuro’s ears have flattened, which shocks him out of his musing.

Sensing Kuro is about to bolt, Intel flips out of the bushes, calling out to Kuro, “Wait!”

Kuro flips back and drops to all fours on a tree stump. “You,” Kuro mutters, ears still flat against his skull. “How did you find me?” His voice now has a bit of otherworldly echo to it that wasn't there before. It sounds layered, deep before swooping up high and ending in a very catlike hiss. Even his stance is reminiscent of a feline, with his tails lashing about behind him to signal his nervous aggression.

“To be honest, there weren't a lot of places you could have gone. We started around the outer areas of our territory with no luck. Then Iris suggested we come here since chances were you’d like it here, or if not, at least some demons may have useful information. I hear your species is a pretty big deal. It took three days travelling here looking for you,” Intel admits. “It’s because I was the one who last saw you that everyone agreed I should go.”

“By yourself?” Kuro asks, a deep frown on his face. Fortunately, his demon cat ears seem to follow the rules of a normal cat’s. This means it gives Intel some much-needed hints on how to approach the demon. As his ears are standing at neutral position now, Intel takes the cue to approach. “You shouldn't be here all alone in the youkai forest,” Kuro continues. “It’s dangerous to you. Lots of hostile spirits and monsters and the like.”

“Actually, no, Arctic and Igneous are a little way back. It was Arctic’s Shard that helped us find this place.”

Kuro glances behind Intel at the thick foliage that grows all around them. Is he looking for the furry beast? Some of the vines have plants on them that emit a eerie blue glow. The petals here resemble spirit flame, and Intel shudders as he looks at the apparent glare on the flower buds. Everything’s dark, so dark that the only light is the sickly blue that casts shadows playing all over the planes of Intel’s face.

“Please, Kuro, everyone in the clan has been asking where you’ve gone.”

Kuro gets out of his crouch and sits down in a more human position. “Why?” he asks, seemingly caught off guard. “Are they planning on… doing anything to me?”

 _Iris wants to study your species but that’s about it,_ Intel adds privately. Out loud, he says, “No, Kuro. They actually want you back. In their view you’ve managed to save Evyk by defeating the tengu. They’re confused why you ran away. In fact, they think _they_ did something to upset you.”

“I wouldn't have had to save anything if I weren't there in the first place!” Kuro hisses, ears drawn back and pupils narrowing to sharp slits. “Don't they hate me? Don't they know what I am?”

“They know what you are,” Intel confirms, to Kuro’s obvious dismay, “but in the past, the three clans clashed over opposing views and lifestyles. It’s in the past, and our leaders today have learnt the importance of looking past the surface. Therefore, they don't see you just as another malicious demon that threatens their survival. In fact it’s common knowledge that not all are anything beyond mischievous, and the clans would like to add you to that list.” Hopefully he memorised this speech correctly and it makes sense to Kuro.

Kuro’s twin tails stir, conflict sparking in his golden eyes. “I don't know,” he says with a frown. “I don't agree with them. My species is listed as incredibly dangerous in encyclopedias, that much I know. Even most demons run away from me on sight. It’s why there’s no one else around here. Except that one bakeneko behind us.” Kuro rolls his eyes.

As Kuro says this, Intel’s attention is drawn to the linear path of rustling leaves darting away. Disturbed, he hopes that demon can't make use of any information it overheard.

“They’re being too naïve,” Kuro continues dismissively, apparently deciding the bakeneko isn't of concern. 

Intel pushes away his doubt for now. “Kuro, but we know you,” Intel argues. “They see past your species to your personality and character. You care about us, right? You’d never hurt any of us. We’re your clanmates. I’m your partner! All these years, if you really wanted to, I’d have been dead where I stood!”

And it’s true, too - Kuro always was faster, stronger, smarter than the other apprentices, as if he himself had tried and failed in battle numerous times, experience that no thirteen year old child would have had under their belt.

“No - I… don't say that…”

“See!” Intel snaps, overcome with the sudden determination to break through to Kuro, to see himself for what he truly was. He _had_ to see they all welcomed him, and wanted him back. “Kuro, please, you’re my partner. You’ve watched over me so many times when I was sick. You’ve always indulged me with extra sparring sessions. You’ve saved me life more than once, twice, hell, a few hundred times now. We’ve spent so much time together,” Intel pleads. “Kuro, even though we didn't meet till we were apprentices, I couldn't imagine my life without you. I need you by my side. I want you here with me. If not for the clan, then… would you consider doing it for me? As friends?” The last bit is said with selfish hopefulness that almost has Intel wondering if he’d gone overboard. Even if he has, these are his honest feelings; he hopes Kuro won't just brush them off.

And Kuro apparently is taking his plea into consideration, as his ears have perked back up again. Kuro gives Intel a thoughtful look and remains silent. Intel can't do anything but wait, so wait he does, his eyes trained on Kuro’s to communicate his sincerity. 

“I… don't have my swords anymore,” Kuro says sadly. “The ultimate humiliation for a clan member...”

“I’m sure being attacked by a really old demon and his army is a special exception. You can forge new ones.”

“Yes… Anri did take me under his wing when I first transformed.” At this Kuro smiles briefly before he shakes away the memories with a jerk of his head. “No matter. He’s gone now. I defeated him using such an unsavory method… I wasn't in control.”

“What?”

“Necromancy,” Kuro utters in a loathsome hiss, ears flat again. “I just couldn't help it. I saw he was going to kill you, and I… couldn't let it happen. Then I just went, and… and I did that.”

Intel goes quiet for a second, remembering the glowing skeletal undead creatures that Kuro had summoned easy as breathing, remembering the way his heart had frozen at just how _wrong_ they had looked, with their twitching, cracking bones and the unearthly moans that sent chills down his spine.

“That may be so,” Intel says, shaken, “but you did it to save me.”

“It doesn't excuse the fact that I did it anyway after I lost control.” Kuro shakes his head regretfully. “I don't like using this spell, but when I saw you in danger, I just… snapped.”

“See? That’s the point,” Intel says as gently as he can, crossing the remaining distance to press his hand against the cat demon’s clothed shoulder. “The fact that you’re showing remorse now… listen, Kuro, I don't believe you’re a threat. You’d never harm me,” he says with the utmost trust in his eyes. “I want us to fight again together, by each other's side.” He tightens his grip subconsciously. “As it should be.”

Kuro looks up at him with an unreadable look on his face. His ears have sprung up, but are hardly relaxed: they arch like a bow strung tight in opposite directions. “...the clan doesn't hold Anri’s attack against me?”

 _He’s starting to consider it!_ “No. They don't.” Intel shakes his head, a smile breaking across his features. “High Chief BattleBlood wants to thank you personally. He told me to tell you once I found you that you’re the reason his land and people are not beyond salvation.”

“The leader of clan Evyk?” Kuro pauses, a thoughtful frown on his face. “He is not a patient man.” Then, to Intel’s incredulity: “I suppose I should meet him…”

Despite himself, Intel bursts out into laughter. “Seriously?” Intel asks in jest as he slumps his shoulders into relaxation. “I pour my heart out on the line and _that’s_ the thing that wins you over?”

Kuro rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but he rises up to take a step towards Intel. “I’d have missed you too, dumb wolf. That’s what you were hoping I’d say, right?” he says, slit-like pupils dilating to give way to something much rounder. His eyes shine in the darkness and almost seem to emanate a faint golden glow. “You’re right. I’ve missed you anyway, these past few days. I miss the clan. And my friends… our friends. I want to go back, and if they’d have me, I’d be happy to.”

“They would,” Intel replies automatically, eager for the journey home.

“They would,” Kuro echoes, giving a firm, decisive nod.

.

Kuro finds himself being what the cat dragged home in a matter of hours. With his shapeshifting ability he’d transformed into a massive winged horse able to lift up all three of his friends _and_ the humongous shard by the chained leash on his collar. Spreading his six feathered wings, Kuro had left a path of glimmery clouds as he galloped across the skies, to his friends’ delighted cheers (and Arctic’s reverent smile as snowflakes appeared at his fingertips).

Kuro’s learned a long, long time ago that his magical abilities could be used in other ways than causing harm. Still, perhaps this time is a worthy reminder, after what he’s been through the previous few days. _Anri is gone,_ he reminds himself, as the familiar sight of Kavara’s camp comes into view. 

Shard grunts and wheezes with excitement in his jaws. Kuro slows to a halt as he lands on the marshlands, dropping Shard’s leash from his jaw and seeing the big, furry, overgrown mutt run off panting in search of food. Kuro waits patiently for his friends to disembark before he transforms into his true form: a black cat with shining golden eyes, and peculiarly, a split tail. He’s hoping that being in the form, a much smaller form, his true, somewhat more vulnerable form, Kuro can show his sincerity. Many nekomatas are prideful, disdainful of living folk, yet hypocritical enough to almost never reveal their true form. No, they’re always disguised as something else: one with the cat folk, or a human, or perhaps one of the elves. Kuro wants to show he isn’t one of them. Hopefully, their lead rogue can accept his appeal.

“Kuro?” Igneous asks, bending down, pressing his hands to his knees. His amber eyes shine. “Wow, I didn’t know you guys had a form like this. Nekomatas are so cute!”

“Kuro is not a pet,” Intel says to deaf ears as Igneous hurriedly scoops the large feline into his arms. Kuro can’t help but chuckle in amusement as Intel stamps his feet.

“You’re super big and fluffy too. Nice and warm and easy to cuddle.”

“I said he’s not a pet!” Intel whisper-yells.

“Your turn to carry me for a while,” the nekomata retorts smugly as Arctic hurries forward to see what all the fuss is about. Curious, the winter mage presses a hand to Kuro’s furry head. Kuro doesn’t lean in, but doesn’t back away either. Instead, he glances at Intel, wondering why he’s so wound up.

“Ugh, I’m being ignored again,” Intel is complaining as he marches ahead of them.

Kuro’s wisecracks creep away from him the deeper into the marshlands’ well-worn paths they travel. It’s not long before a border patrol detects them and run forward to meet them. Kuro’s heart lurches at the sight of so many familiar faces. He’s grown so familiar with them over the past five years. He doesn’t want be banished. _Lash, Nickel, Killer,_ he lists in his mind. No, no, that’s ridiculous, surely? They want him back. Right? Or it could all be a trick...

“We saw your rampaging ice beast just seconds ago, Arctic,” remarks Lash, his mother. Arctic flashes her a sheepish grin. Her sharp blue eyes travel to the cat in Igneous’s arms. “And it looks like you were successful.”

Kuro bows his head, unsure what to say. Lash seems genuinely caught off guard to have a cat perform such human-looking gestures. “I’ll get Maximus,” she says, “but first, let’s get you back home.”

Kuro can’t help wondering if a wide grin looks strange in his current form. In his affection induced rush of emotions, he can’t help but curl his tails around Igneous’s arm.

“You should stay like this all the time and be our clan pet,” Igneous says, pointedly ignoring the splutters of a certain werewolf next to them.

When they reach, the camp is as bustling as ever, apprentices and rogues alike all settling down around the campfire. Lash comes back to regard Kuro with a serious look. “He said you can see him now,” Lash says, not unkindly. “Alone,” she says, tugging on Igneous’s red hair to get his attention. He winces but lowers his arms and lets Kuro land neatly on the ground.

“Bye. Good luck,” Intel says, and all three friends wave at him as they follow the senior rogue away. Now, Kuro gulps, staring up at the massive stone stairs that lead the way to the leader of clan Kavara’s retreat. Still, Kuro gets on all fours and hurriedly scampers up the flight of stairs. He will do this with no aid.

Running up the stairs with far shorter four legs grants Kuro time to think. His heart is pounding, and not just from the exertion. What will Maximus say? Has he changed his mind after all? Will Kuro have to leave? What should he even say to the clan leader? What can he say? His ears flatten against his skull. _He doesn’t know what you did to win the fight,_ Kuro tells himself. _Well. Hopefully. And if so, he won’t perceive you as badly as he could… no, no, don’t think about that._

Alas, the flight of stairs has to come to a halt somehow. When he reaches the top and knocks on the door, he finds it swung open almost instantly. Before him is the familiar dark face of the lead rogue, red-streaked black hair down to his waist and dual swords strapped to his hips. “Apprentice Kuro,” Maximus states, looking down at the curious sight of the two-tailed, abnormally large black cat. “You’ve come back.”

“I… have.” 

“Come on in.” Maximus allows the cat to crawl in before he shuts the door. Gesturing at the wooden stumps surrounding the stone table, he says, “Have a seat.”

He obeys. His ears down and paws together, Kuro figures the best way forward is to apologise for his misdeeds. “I apologise for not informing anyone of my species. I understand if you won’t accept me because of what I am, but it’s because of this exact reason that I felt compelled to disguise myself in the first place. Unfortunately, my presence attracted powerful demons…” 

Apparently his ears are in a negative direction. They’re so flat now it’s actually putting a strain on the cartilage. “I understand if you can’t accept that. I feel the need to disclose this now to prevent another attack in the future. I will admit it was a lapse in judgement on my part. If you want me to leave to safeguard your clan, I will respect your choice.” Kuro says the last sentence with some difficulty, air leaving his lungs as he does so. These are all things he hasn’t told Intel, because he can’t bear to see the look of heartbreak on the young pup’s face. Head down, he awaits his leader’s answer.

Maximus thinks over his words for a little while before he asks bluntly, “What would draw a demon to a clan like this?”

“Well… when you get to be as old as I am, you start looking for ways to entertain yourself. I was always interested in swordfighting,” Kuro admits. “A long time ago, my human… housemates practiced this art, but for sport. I wanted to know more about it from the source.”

“Housemates?”

“They were my supposed caretakers, but did not treat me well.” Kuro shakes his head. _And I did so many dark deeds because I knew nothing else but pain and hatred,_ he does not say aloud. _This is how my tail grew long enough to split into two,_ he keeps to himself.

“I… see,” Maximus says sympathetically. Kuro hates that he dares only to disclose one side of the story. Still, there’s no way the sharp leader has missed what Kuro has left unsaid. Nekomata, and bakeneko, usually are the malevolent products of a neglectful master’s own creation. Despite that, Maximus still holds a sliver of regard for Kuro’s story.

“If you’ll forgive me for dragging the topic away...”

“Please do.”

“I apologise for my wording. I should have been more specific. What I meant to say was: what about Kavara interested you?” Maximus asks. “You could have gone to Evyk, or Luminosity. They would have taken you in. Not many would deliberately choose the harsh, independent life of a rogue,” he says with a wink that Kuro doesn’t understand. 

“Harsh and independent is what I’ve been all my life once I was reborn.” That’s the easy portion to answer. “Kavara interested me because your ways and your fighting style appealed to me the most. Independent, but fiercely loyal. Hiding in the shadows, or striking from within. I’ve actually always been interested. Over the past hundred years I’ve paid multiple visits before I finally decided to try my luck. Of course, recently I know there’s a lot of overlap between mages, rogues, and warriors, but I think I still fit in the most over here.”

“And you are right,” Maximus says, to Kuro’s surprise. “I’ve observed you. Your self-observations are true. But now that you’ve revealed yourself, it’s become clearer. All your abilities lie in causing damage, but I know you can’t take much in return. Neither do you have many supportive abilities. Of course it's your favored style. This says much about your analysis skills. You made the right choice, except for one.”

Subconsciously, Kuro finds himself backing away on the massive wooden seat. “And… that would be?”

“You not informing us of your true form,” Maximus says with a understanding look. “The only fault I see in you right now is your ability to fight with swords isn’t fully integrated into your ability to burn everything at a touch.”

Scarcely daring to breathe, Kuro feels a flicker of… fear? Excitement? 

“I simply cannot let you become a full rogue of Kavara if you don’t improve on this area,” Maximus says with a smile, “which means you won’t be running away again for some time.”

“...thank you,” Kuro says, and if he was able to he’d have wet streaks of tears ruining his shiny, jet-black fur. He’s accepted here, really, truly welcomed back by his leader. Maybe he’d still have some trouble on his hands from less accepting clanmates, but he hasn’t been banished, so it’s really, extremely good right now. Overcome with affection, he pricks his ears up, letting out a fond purr before he catches himself.

Maximus regards him with curiosity. “Oh. I should mention this. Our scholar Iris wants to observe you in action, perhaps to shed light on your species. The nekomata encyclopedia page is largely filled with unknowns, because not many have survived an encounter to actually learn anything useful, other than the intensity and variety of your powers.”

Kuro nods. “That’s fine. It’s the least I can do to make it up to you.” This time his ears stay perked up, but he does bow his head in remorse.

“In hindsight, your lie was necessary. That’s in the past. You eliminated a huge threat to us,” Maximus replies. “A greater tengu. Extremely dangerous alone, and even more so with the huge army of lesser tengu he brought… it was lucky we scraped by with only injured and none dead, and it was because of you, Kuro. High Chief BattleBlood would like to thank you.”

And Kuro, slowly lifting his head up, jerks with shock as he realises Maximus is bowing down to him.


End file.
